


Copperhead & Cherry Blossom

by Violet_Jones



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Body Hair, Chest Hair, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Facial Hair, Humor, M/M, POV Mickey, ginger!Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: In which Mickey is also a redhead, and he and Ian get into various silly spats related to hair. Inspired by Noel's real hair color, and Cam's dalliances with body and facial hair.





	1. The Pasty Ginger Freckle Cult of Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unfinishedbusiness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedbusiness/gifts).



Ian Gallagher was the first and only ginger Mickey Milkovich had ever found attractive, and that was merely one of the reasons he found him to be completely infuriating. It wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that Mickey himself was also a natural redhead. It wasn’t so much a point of contention between the two of them as it was about the kind of attention it brought them when they were together in public and the levels of discomfort it caused in Mickey. Other guys looked at them like some of kind of fetish porn couple come to life. Ian thought it was funny and kind of hot, but Mickey fucking hated it. He almost got into fights all the time whenever they went out to bars or clubs together, because there were always dudes dumb enough to try to proposition them for a threesome. Ian invariably stopped it from escalating, always talking Mickey down like some kind of magical ex-criminal-whisperer, before taking it upon himself to send the latest douchebag packing without the possibility of it getting Mickey into trouble.

Mickey had even considered dying his hair dark so that maybe that shit would stop. He was sure the reason for the annoying phenomenon lied in the rarity of seeing two attractive red-headed guys together being affectionate. It encouraged fantasies to form all around the pair without them even wanting, let alone trying to. But then he’d accidentally voiced the idea of changing his hair color to Ian out loud, and somehow that had led to them each threatening to break up with the other for reasons that didn’t actually seem to make any sense at all.

“Don’t you dare!” Ian warned him as soon as the words ‘dye it black’ had escaped his lips. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What? I know you get off on other dudes wanting to get on us all the time, but that shit’s gotta stop. Us both bein’ carrot tops fuckin’ sucks balls, man. I can’t do it anymore. It’s either this, or I break up with you.”

“What the fuck, Mickey! Are you serious right now?”

Mickey just raised his eyebrows higher and shrugged.

“You think guys want us for some ginger fantasy, and if I don’t let you dye your hair, you’re going to leave me. That’s what you just said.”

“Yeeeaah,” Mickey replied, drawing out the syllable in a sarcastic tone and looking at Ian like he was simple. “That’s what I fuckin’ said, Gallagher, get with the program.”

Ian punched him hard in the arm, hollering, “Fuck you, Mickey!” as he abruptly turned his back on him.

Mickey sighed as Ian stormed off and slammed a door at the end of the hallway. He ran a hand through the auburn strands on top of his head and cursed the day he’d first laid eyes on Ian.

_He’d come to pick up Mandy from some daytime outdoor party in a good part of town, and he’d found her around the back of the house, half-hidden among the bushes and trees toward the back of the yard. She’d been sprawled out, lying horizontally in the middle of a big rope hammock with a hot ginger guy he didn’t recognize, his hair a shade or two darker than Mickey’s own, and practically glowing in the sunlight. They were both laughing hysterically and mystery guy’s wide mouth, perfect teeth, and impeccably cut jawline did nothing to dissuade Mickey’s immediate rush of lust upon spotting him._

_“Douchebag!” Mandy cried out, interrupting his sudden longing when she noticed him approaching._

_“What up, skank?” he replied automatically._

_Mickey’s eyes kept flicking over to Ian, who was still smiling crookedly, and now studying Mickey intently, his large left hand resting casually on his chest, his thumb idly rubbing against the fabric of his shirt. Mickey gulped._

_“This is Ian Gallagher,” she said with an uncharacteristic giggle._

_“Hey,” Ian said quietly, his smirk growing as he appraised Mickey._

_“Yo,” responded Mickey with a brief nod. “You high or somethin’?” Mickey asked, directing his attention back to Mandy._

_That set the two off laughing again, which basically answered Mickey’s question._

_“I may have persuaded her to share a joint with me,” Ian admitted._

_“Got any left, Cheech? Or are you Chong?”_

_Ian chortled. “How old are you, man? That reference is more_ dated _than Taylor Swift.” He kept laughing at his own lame joke, and Mandy joined him._

_Mickey rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, about to yell at Mandy to get her ass in gear since he was doing her a favor, but Ian pulled something out of his pocket and stuck his hand out at Mickey, opening it to reveal a decent sized roach that appeared to consist of about a third of a joint._

_“Good lookin’ out, man,” Mickey said, accepting it and pulling out his own lighter to get it going again. He wouldn’t mind the opportunity to ogle Mandy’s friend and get high for free whilst doing it._

_It wasn’t only that the guy had a good face, the guy had a good_ everything _as far as Mickey’s eyes could tell. He was wearing a tight, light blue tee shirt that was starting to ride up as he swung to and fro in the hammock with Mickey’s stupid sister, Ian’s long legs planted on the ground to generate and control the motion. Mickey took another puff and tried to look away, but his eyes kept getting drawn back of their own accord, betraying his true point of focus. Ian’s pants were a little on the tight side as well, and there was a decent sized bulge right in the area you’d want it to be in. Then there were those strong arms. Ian was still absentmindedly rubbing one hand just below his left nipple, which was very distracting, and his other arm flexed with the swing, thrown out to his right underneath Mandy’s neck, her blonde hair all fanned out around it._

_He wondered if this was Mandy’s latest boytoy, or if Ian was in fact gay. The way he smiled at Mickey made him wonder._

_“Jesus, Mickey, stare much?” Mandy cried out, kicking him in the shin with a heavy black boot when the hammock swung out again._

_Mickey yelped in pain, bending his knee and cradling his leg where it throbbed. “Goddammit, Mandy! The fuck’d you do that for?”_

_“You’re totally creeping on Ian, you perv!”_

_Mickey panicked at Mandy’s petulant call-out and his eyes quickly darted to Ian’s, his breath slightly catching at the look Ian was fixing him with. He was smiling at Mickey even bigger now, and there was definitely a swaggery, appreciative, flirty edge to it. His right eyebrow slowly cocked and he gave Mickey an unabashed and slow once over, starting from his feet up._

_Mickey had frozen. It’s not like he was bad at picking up guys, but he wasn’t exactly smooth at it either. In fact, he was kind of clumsy, because he’d spent so many years doubting and fearing his sexual attraction to men, he had this residual tendency to react in one of two extreme manners: brash, challenging, and over-confident; or shy, apprehensive, and under-confident. Either way, he couldn’t just behave like a normal person on a regular-ass wavelength._

_“Leave him alone, Mands, I don’t think I mind,” Ian drawled, still staring at Mickey with interest._

_“You’re a cocky motherfucker, ain’t you?” Mickey said, taking one last hit, then proceeding to smother out the roach against the nearest tree, which was closer to Ian._

_“One way to find out,” Ian razzed, patting his hand against the unoccupied area of hammock beside him in invitation._

_Mickey looked at him like he was fucking nuts, but Ian only rolled his eyes and gave him a pointed look that said ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ and for some reason, Mickey sighed (as the weakest possible form of protest), and spun around to flop down next to Ian anyway._

_The hammock swung out and back dramatically, sending everyone crashing against each other and reaching their feet for the ground to steady it._

_Mandy snarled in frustration. “The hell is your problem, dickbag? Learn basic fucking Physics, moron!”_

_Ian unleashed a loud cackle right into Mickey’s ear, one whole side of his body pressing up against Mickey awkwardly and making him hyper aware of the contact, like a pulse of electricity was flowing through his body. He wondered if Ian felt it too._

_Meeting this guy through Mandy was the first omen, as far as Mickey was concerned, and he knew he should steer clear. An undercurrent of anxiety started creeping up on him as he realized that Mandy’s presence was going to blow it for him before he ever had a chance to do so himself. They couldn’t help but act like fucking crass, warring children when they were together. It was a deeply ingrained dynamic, and Mickey was sure it was also the opposite of a turn-on to be caught in the middle of a Milkovich sibling spat that never truly ever came to an end, but seemed destined to go on forever until one of them physically expired and was settled irrevocably six feet underneath the ground. They would probably exhaust Ian until they sent him running for the hills._

_Mickey raised his head slightly to see if he could get a read on Ian’s expression. He was looking up at the sky, but he was still smiling as if deeply amused. And then he did something to make it seem like he was on Mickey’s side. He withdrew his arm from beneath Mandy’s shoulders and started elbowing her in the arm._

_“Scooch over,” he said, raising his hip and nudging her with it as well._

_“Oh, please!” exclaimed Mandy, refusing to budge. “Please tell me you’re not indulging_ this _loser.” She raised her upper body up enough to glare over at Mickey menacingly. “Cuz I can tell you right now, he isn’t worth shit.”_

_“Yeah, and you’re a regular fuckin’ royal princess the way you suck dicks down by the tracks, underneath the bypasses. Nothin’ but class for good ol’ sis!”_

_“JESUS, FUCK!” Ian roared. “Will you two please shut the fuck up?”_

_An awkward silence descended over all of them, and a couple of tense minutes passed before Mandy huffed and extricated herself hastily from the rope swing. She spun on her heel to face them with full bitch mode engaged._

_“You know you look fucking ridiculous together, right? I mean,_ really _?_ Two _fucking_ gingers _? So gross. Goddamn Copperhead and Cherry Blossom over here. You deserve each other.” She sneered and walked away._

_“What the fuck did_ I _do?” Ian called after her._

_“Just let her go,” advised Mickey. “She’s an irrational pain in the ass. Don’t take it personally. Now, move the fuck over.”_

_Ian lifted himself and managed to shift so that they were now in the middle, still leaned up against each other. Mickey’s arm was tingling, but his mind was still kind of stuck on Mandy’s parting insults. Ian was super fucking hot, but she was right. . . the two of them would look weird together. . . like a pasty, freckly, two-person cult of gay aliens freaking out the population at large._

_But then Ian had brazenly inched his left hand, the very same one that Mickey’d been transfixed with earlier, slowly and indiscreetly over Mickey’s right thigh, causing his breathing to speed up and his throat to get dry. He shifted his gaze down to Ian’s hand, and followed the length of his arm all the way up until their eyes met once more._

_“I don’t think we look gross or ridiculous together,” Ian said softly, completely unaffected by Mandy’s outburst, but apparently in tune with Mickey’s inner turmoil over it. “If anything, everyone’s gonna wanna fuck us.”_

_Mickey snorted. “You sound awfully confident about what you think is happenin’ here.”_

_Ian chuckled. “Do I?” He let his hand slide ever so slightly up, rubbing small circles on the inside of Mickey’s thigh, as close to his crotch as he could get without brushing against it. “Maybe because I have eyes and I can tell you’re into me.”_

_“How can I be_ into _you? I don’t even know you. Yeah, I can see that you’re hot. Congratulations. Like you said, I have eyes.”_

_Ian exhaled heavily and flipped himself over so that he was now half on top of Mickey, their right sides now mashed together as Ian studied his face. “I can already tell that ‘irrational pain in the ass’ runs in the family. You’re gonna be so annoying.”_

_“Stop acting so familiar, dude, it’s not cute, it’s weird.”_

_Ian laughed again and his smile lingered. “You and Mandy were raised to be the most adorable grumps in Chicago, you know that?”_

_“You think so? I’ll be sure to leave a thank you note on my asshole father’s grave praising him for all the hard work and care he put into our childhood.”_

_“I’ve never dated another guy with red hair before,” Ian said, ignoring Mickey’s dark mini-rant. He reached up as if to run his hand through the luscious orange coif Mickey had going on these days._

_Mickey intercepted the gesture, snatching Ian’s wrist before he could make contact. “Yeah, neither have I, and it’s gonna stay that way.”_

_Ian snickered again. “How long you gonna play this game for? It’s wasting precious time during which we could be doing much more interesting things.”_

_“Is this your M.O. then, Gallagher? You get boys high, tangle up with them on questionable outdoor furniture. . . a couple vague compliments. . . a couple teasing caresses, and we’re supposed to fall like dominos?”_

_“What’s your M.O. then, Milkovich? Pretend and repress? Deny and resist? Why don’t you just make things simpler on yourself and do exactly what you want for a change? I’m guessing you normally don’t. Stop thinking about it so much.”_

_Throughout it all, Ian’s steady gaze never wavered. Mickey was pretty certain he would be held captive there in that stupid rope contraption until he bent his will to Ian’s fancy. Again, he found his mind quickly running through two options he could choose from: punch his way out and show this guy a thing or two about trying to control Mickey’s actions, or he could just lean up, wrap his hand around the back of Ian’s swanlike neck, and pull him down until their lips were pressed firmly together; until their mouths parted and their tongues came out to play; until two sets of pale fingers were combing through varying shades of cinnamon locks, mixing them together._

_Mickey barely registered what was happening, he just suddenly found himself taking the obviously much tougher second stance, and from that moment on, he knew that Ian was going to be a big problem._

After taking five minutes to smoke a cigarette on his balcony, Mickey made his way down the hall and reached for the knob of the door at the very end.

Locked.

Mickey let out a loud exasperated sigh and looked up at the ceiling, rubbing a hand over his face as if to calm himself. “ _Really, Ian_? You locked me out of my own fuckin’ bedroom? Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

He heard a distinct growl of frustration muffled from across the room behind the closed door and then Ian’s angry stomps across the hardwood as he neared. A small click of the lock, and the door was thrown open, bouncing carelessly off the wall, and Ian was howling in his face.

“ _I’m overreacting_? _Me_? You just said you’d rather break up with me than find a reasonable way to get over this stupid fucking obsession you have about us both having red hair, and how other people react to it. Do you know how fucking stupid that sounds?”

“It’s not––”

“Do you know how your dumbass conclusions make me feel, or do you just not care?”

“I didn’t mean––”

“You fucking idiot, it’s the two of us in this relationship, there’s no room for anyone else, especially not a bunch of insignificant strangers. Stop using this as an excuse for being scared of me and what we have.”

“That’s not the––”

“It’s been over a year! You’re my fucking boyfriend! Get over it.”

Mickey stopped trying to retort at that point, because he realized Ian had a point. Mickey was terrible at doing this whole relationship thing, and he did seem unreasonably affected by something that he could easily learn to let go if he really wanted to.

“Besides,” Ian continued, “if you dye your hair black, I’ll leave you anyway. I like the way we look together even if you don’t.” He turned away before adding, “Jerk.”

Mickey shuffled forward and put his hands over Ian’s bare shoulders, leaning into his broad back, inhaling his scent and resting his lips right in the middle of his neck. “Don’t be mad,” implored Mickey, snaking his hands down from Ian’s shoulders to around his waist, where he continued to let them roam over Ian’s stomach and up to his pecs. Mickey had a kink for Ian’s upper body.

“That’s not a fucking apology, Mick. Man, you suck at this.”

Mickey nodded as he pressed a long kiss between Ian’s shoulder blades.

“I do. I totally suck at _all_ of this. I’m the worst, in fact.”

“You _are_ the worst,” agreed Ian, but he reached his hands up to cover Mickey’s as they continued smoothing over the soft skin of Ian’s chest. Mickey tried to inch them lower, heading toward the waistband of Ian’s lounging pants, but was deterred by dual smacks, and an indignant, “You are _not_ getting out of this with sex!”

Okay, now Mickey was genuinely confused. “What! _Really_?”

Ian sighed loudly for the umpteenth time that day and stuck his ass out to bump Mickey away from him, prying his hungry hands off of Ian’s tempting muscles, and putting a bit of distance between them.

“Yes, really. We can’t just fuck our way out of every argument.”

“Why not?” Mickey wasn’t even being sarcastic. He was genuinely at a loss as to how this was even possible. They’d gotten through all the other times Mickey’d said or done something thoughtless or hurtful, and sometimes Ian could be a dick too, it’s not like it was _always_ Mickey’s fault. They had consistently ended any squabbles with a nice long marathon of sex that spanned the emotional spectrum and sort of freaked Mickey out, but was also so amazing that he didn’t really care. Sometimes he thought maybe in the back of his mind he actually tried to start shit with Ian just to get him riled up so they could go through the ritual all over again.

An adorably spontaneous laugh escaped Ian’s mouth, like he was trying to stifle it, but couldn’t. “Because we’re supposed to fix things instead of just jumping over the broken parts and pretending like they don’t exist.”

“Okay, so how do I fix it then?”

“Years of therapy? How the fuck should I know?”

“You want me to see a _shrink_?” Mickey asked in a horrified tone.

Ian just shrugged. “Maybe?”

“Because we’re both gingers, you want me to go see a doctor.”

Ian snorted again. “I don’t know, Mick. I mean, unless you can learn to just cope with it, then what the hell else is there to suggest? I already told you this goes deeper than hair color. Maybe it’s time to try and figure out your shit.”

“Have you _met_ me? I ain’t talkin’ to no two-bit head doctor about my boyfriend troubles.”

“So don’t talk about me then, at first, just talk about you.”

“Holy shit, Ian, I don’t need someone to tell me I’m a fuck up, I already know that shit.”

“You’re not a fuck up. . .” Ian started. “Okay, maybe you’re kind of a fuck up, but _so am I_! So are all of us that grew up where we did. We all have bad shit that we can’t change about where we came from, but we can try to be better than that. The coolest people you meet in life are either current or former fuck ups. It’s not something to be ashamed of in the grand scheme of things as long as you don’t just do nothing and stay that way forever.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“ _What_?” Ian fixed him with a comical look of utter bafflement.

“You basically just said I go get shrunk, or I stay an unlovable fuck up forever. That my ultimatum here?”

“ _Unlovable_? Christ Mickey, you really do just hear what you wanna hear. You’re basically the biggest drama queen I know.”

“Oh, so now I’m a _queen_?”

“Yeah, Mick,” Ian deadpanned. “You’re the Queen of Boystown. Long may you reign.”

  


  


*  



	2. Splitting Hairs

Mickey’s inane crisis over his and Ian’s matching manes was not to be the last of their hair-related clashes. Round two was first initiated when Ian started growing out his body hair without really consulting Mickey or even mentioning it at all beforehand. One day, Ian just sort of had a bunch of hair on his chest. They’d been fooling around, and Mickey found himself running his fingers through it, and then he looked down and realized that his boyfriend had a happy trail leading down to a fairly decent sized bush.

“When the hell did this big ol’ thicket spring up around your dick?” Mickey asked, running his fingers through Ian’s dark orange pubes.

Ian snickered and swatted his hand away. “I stopped shaving like two weeks ago. You’re just now noticing?”

“Guess it didn’t really occur to me before. Why’re you growin’ it out?”

Ian shrugged. “Just thought it might be hot. Less work for me, too. Do you like it?”

Mickey wasn’t sure really. Yeah, he loved silky smooth Ian, and how hard his muscles felt beneath his palms, yet the hair did kind of make him look and feel more manly too, and the tautness was still there. He wondered if maybe that was part of the reason Ian had wanted the change. He was barely 20, and probably wanted to prove something to himself or the world. It could be hot, sure. Why not?

“Yeah, I like it,” Mickey smirked.

He tried to wrap his arms around Ian, so they could get on with escalating their foreplay, but Ian hopped up onto the mattress, feet planted on either side of Mickey’s prone form, and gazed down at him, hands on his hips.

“Do you think it makes my cock look smaller?” he asked in a worried tone.

Mickey just stared at Ian’s face for a beat, then glanced down at his crotch and let out a spectacular snort before he all but busted a gut laughing. He was full-on tossing and turning between Ian’s open legs, holding his sides.

“Fuck you!” cried Ian indignantly. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to stop yet, because everything about Ian in that moment was hysterical. The more Mickey laughed, the redder Ian’s face got, and he started kicking Mickey in the thigh and ass with one foot, but that only made his semi-hard dick start flopping around not too far above Mickey’s head, and that just prolonged his laughter even more.

“MICKEY!” Ian finally yelled.

“Jesus, Ian,” Mickey spoke through his continuous tittering. “I’m not laughing at your dick, man. _No one_ would laugh at your dick, you idiot.”

“But, it looks bigger when it’s clean-shaven, so logically speaking, it would look smaller when I let it go all untamed. Does it?”

“Ian! You have one of the biggest dicks I’ve ever _seen_ , it doesn’t matter what the fuck you do with your pubes. That’s why I’m laughing at you. You’re a fuckin’ idiot!”

“Oh yeah?” Ian asked, lowering himself back down to hover over Mickey, muscles flexing enticingly. “I’m a big-dick idiot, eh?”

Mickey sniggered again. “Yeah, pretty much. My cock’s not as big as yours, and you don’t see _me_ cryin’ about it.”

Ian snorted this time. “Yeah, because you reap the rewards of its size, why would you cry about it? Unless it was in ecstasy, like that one time.” He wiggled his eyebrows like a dumbass and leaned forward to bite Mickey on the chin.

“Gallagher, get on me and stop bein’ weird. Too much chit-chat.”

They got down to business, and things went on as usual between them for a few more weeks. That’s when Mickey started getting mad about the state of his own body hair. After having gotten used to Ian’s whole nature vibe, and also appreciating how much time and hassle it saved his boyfriend grooming himself throughout the week, he decided he was going to try growing all his shit out too. Problem being, that while Ian was now sporting a respectably thick layer of hair all over his body, Mickey still struggled to sprout more than wispy, fine little reddish-blonde patches that looked absolutely pathetic in comparison. He had the body hair of a dopey adolescent, not a grown-ass fucking man.

Ian caught Mickey studying himself in the bathroom mirror after a shower and raised a curious eyebrow at him. “You okay? Need me to pop a pimple for you or something?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey replied, not moving his gaze. “That was _one_ time, and it was in the middle of my back. I couldn’t get my arm to bend far enough.”

“Did I complain? I grew up with a bunch of gross little kids running around. I had to wipe their asses sometimes. My boyfriend’s puss isn’t enough to shake me.”

“My fuckin’ chest hair looks fuckin’ stupid. That’s what I’m lookin’ at, okay?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I stopped shavin’, and _this_ is what I got. The fuck _is_ this?”

He finally directed his gaze to Ian, and noticed the way his crooked jaw was quivering in an effort to contain his laughter. “So what? You’re all soft. It’s cute.”

“ _Cute_? I don’t wanna be fuckin’ cute!”

Now Ian _was_ laughing at him. “Mick,” he said grabbing him by the arm, and spinning him around. He then took Mickey by the waist and pressed him up against the counter. “I hate to break it to ya, but you’re kind of adorable. Being all angry about that fact just makes it even more true.”

Mickey averted his eyes, wiping at his nose, and then worrying his lip. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” asked Ian.

“I’m older than you, and you grow hair like it’s whatever, no big deal, and then this is what I have to show. It’s bullshit.”

He could feel Ian shaking against him, and Mickey was about to get angry now, but refused to meet Ian’s eye.

“Mickey, first of all, you’re like three years old than me. That’s nothing. And second of all, it’s not a competition.”

“Yeah, cuz you’re fuckin’ winnin’,” Mickey muttered under his breath.

Ian heaved a big sigh and stepped back, dropping his arms. “Are you seriously trying to make this a thing? _This_?”

“I ain’t doin’ shit. Why are you even still in here right now?” he answered, turning back to face the mirror.

Ian rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “Because we’re having a conversation, or so I thought.”

“Cool, well, conversation over. I need to finish gettin’ ready, so stop distractin’ me.”

“With my jealousy inducing body hair? I would _never_ ,” Ian cracked, striding out into the hallway.

Mickey tore his eyes away from their intense study of the individual follicles below his neckline and went to brush his teeth. That’s when he heard the stereo come on in the living room, the volume immediately cranked up a few decibels too loud. He bit down on the toothbrush in his mouth and tipped his head back, closing his eyes in defeat, rubbing them with his thumb and forefinger. This was Ian’s surefire, 14-year-old girl way of indicating to Mickey that he was mad at him now, and that he wanted to talk about it, but he was gonna pretend like he didn’t wanna talk about it. So if Mickey went in there and pulled the buzzkill parent move, and turned the volume all the way down, Ian would immediately start yelling at him, and he would yell back. It would get very exhausting, very quickly, and Mickey didn’t have time for that shit today anyway; he had to leave for work soon.

He finished dressing in the bedroom and decided to just head out a tad early to avoid any sort of blow-up that could potentially sour his mood even further before his shift. He could feel Ian’s glare on him as he walked through the living room, the thin walls of the cheap apartment rattling with the din of Ian’s shitty indie-dance-pop that he knew got on Mickey’s nerves the most out of all the other genres in his vast collection of songs Mickey wouldn’t be caught dead appreciating.

As he opened the door, Ian could be heard belting out, “HAVE A GREAT DAY, MICK!” over the annoying racket booming around them. His tone was crafted to be pointedly irritating and mocking, which he liked to do when he was trying to force a confrontation, a thing he did way too often for Mickey’s liking. Instead of being goaded into speech or drastic action, Mickey simply held a middle finger up behind him without turning back, and closed the door once his hand had cleared the frame.

Mickey shook his head as he made his way down the stairwell to the right of the outer passageway. Ian didn’t even technically live at Mickey’s place, but he was sure as fuck there all the goddamn time, since he couldn’t even remember when anymore. And obviously Ian had gotten so comfortable, he was now just spending random days dicking around Mickey’s home instead of his own, when Mickey wasn’t even gonna be there again for at least nine hours. It hadn’t even occurred to him to kick Ian out before he left, and it wasn’t because he was trying to avoid a big dumb fight, it’s just that he was used to it by now. He was really fucking used to Ian being there, all up in everything, all the time.

Mandy was fucking insufferable now that she knew that there was someone out there that could turn Mickey into the helpless mess of a person he was now that Ian had been around for a while. She never wasted an opportunity to remind him of how soft he’d gotten, and she still gave them shit all the time about being ginger twins, purely because of the rise it always got out of Mickey. He didn’t think he’d ever learn when it came to reacting to his stupid skank of a sister’s juvenile derision. It was just one of those things beyond sibling control. They were always going to fuck with each other, and they were probably always going to resort to slap fights whenever their verbal sparring ran out of steam.

Yes, Ian had gotten under his skin, and Mickey was still a little surprised by it all.

Mickey opened his apartment door that evening, relieved that Ian hadn’t tried to pull some extra-petulant nonsense like having super-loud music blaring again when he arrived. He hadn’t even been 100% sure Ian would actually be there to stay with him that night. He’d guessed there were pretty much 50/50 odds that Ian had gotten himself riled up enough to stay away for the night and gone back to his sister’s, as he did from time to time to keep up appearances. But nope, it was getting pretty late, and Ian had fallen asleep on the couch watching TV.

This wasn’t an aberrant phenomenon in the least. Ian could never just go to sleep without distraction or background noise. He had to have a television on, or music playing, or even just Mickey talking quietly in his ear. Mickey wasn’t typically what you would call a gift giver, but he’d even gone to such lengths as to buy Ian a goddamn sound machine with those lame pre-recordings of the rain, and the jungle, and a gently babbling brook with birds chirping, and the ocean tide roaring ashore, and even whale caterwauling for some reason. Accommodating Ian’s aversion to silence was yet another sacrifice Mickey had learned to make in order to keep Ian’s high maintenance ass happy.

He sat down his things, shrugged out of his extra layers and kicked his shoes off, watching Ian’s relaxed face the whole time. Looking at him like that, all soft in sleep, Mickey figured maybe he was exaggerating about the high maintenance accusation. He’d listened to some of the guys at work talking about their significant others, both current and previous, and it sounded like a goddamn nightmare half the time. Ian was alright, really, if push came to shove and he was forced to compare him to the rest of humanity. Mickey realized he was smiling, and smacked himself on the cheek as if it to wipe it off his face, but he stepped toward the couch anyway, and sat down on the little space left between Ian’s stomach and the edge of the sofa cushion. He reached a hand out to card his fingers through Ian’s hair.

Dammit, now he was getting sentimental for no reason. Mandy was right about him. He should just kick his own ass right now. He was fucking disgusting.

He moved his offending hand down to wrap around Ian’s well-defined bicep and shook him awake jarringly. Ian hummed all low, and cute, and confused, blinking his eyes open in rapid succession.

“What’re y’doin’?” he mumbled groggily, rubbing at his eyes like a small child.

“Savin’ your ass from a sore back. Come to bed.”

“What?” Ian asked, still disoriented.

“Come on, sleepyface,” Mickey said with a soft grin, rising and pulling Ian up with him. He released Ian’s hands once he was standing, so that he could turn off the lights and the television, and watched amusedly as he swayed on the spot, then stumbled down the hallway like an unreasonably attractive zombie.

Mickey decided that he couldn’t stay mad at Ian over his own stupid insecurities again, so he let what was nagging him slip away along with his dreams that night, and the next morning he didn’t mention any of it again. To his surprise, Ian also let it go. That may or may not have had something to do with the way Mickey had awoken him with a blowjob, and then climbed aboard and ridden him into the mattress until they’d soaked the sheets, but it was impossible to determine with any certainty, without actually having to bring up the near-fight.

It was a couple weeks later that the issue reared its ugly head again, so to speak.

“Ow. Ow, ow. . . _Ow_!” Mickey exclaimed.

The sucking and slurping sounds relented and Ian’s muted voice replaced them, gasping, “What? What’s wrong?”

Mickey looked over his shoulder at his boneheaded boyfriend, and if he wasn’t borderline angry already, he would’ve laughed at the look on his dumb hairy face. Ian’s whole body hair experiment had gone so well, he’d up and decided to quit shaving his face, and now he had this fucking _beard thing_ happening. And while it wasn’t exactly reaching the fullness levels of say, your Brawny Man logo, it was still maddeningly decent as far as beards went. Ian now had his own spit shining wetly around his mouth, and his eyes were all glassy and half-lidded. He looked like some washed-up castaway staring up at Mickey past the swell of his ass.

“Your fucking beard, you asshole! It’s starting to rub me the wrong way, like _literally_.”

Ian still looked sex-dazed, and reached a hand up to massage Mickey’s sensitive hole. “Aw, I’m sorry, Mick. You want me to stop? We can do something else.”

“What!” Mickey was about to get indignant. “You wanna take a sex break and do what, have fuckin’ late afternoon tea and crumpets until my ass stops burnin’ or some shit?”

Ian snorted. “No, dumbass, I meant like we could just blow each other or something. I don’t _have_ to fuck you.”

“Now you don’t wanna _fuck_?” Mickey cried out in alarm, and finally flipped himself over onto his ass and pushed Ian away from him with one foot.

“Christ, Mickey, you said I was _hurting_ you. I don’t wanna hurt you. We can just wait until later, or tomorrow for full sex.” He shrugged and tried to get closer to Mickey again.

“Or I could fuck _your_ ass,” Mickey amended.

Ian paused to think and shrugged again, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You could. I’d probly have to get ready for that though, since it’s not usually my thing. Can we please just take care of this right now?” He scooted closer and thwacked his big hard-on against Mickey’s meaty calf and started rutting against his leg. “Am I gonna have to rub one out between your bent knee or something?” he joked.

“Fuck off, Ian,” Mickey said, voice belying a seriousness that clashed with Ian’s joking demeanor. He pushed him away again and fell back against the pillows, his previously full erection flagging and fading, but he didn’t even care. Suddenly, he wasn’t in the mood.

“What the fuck, Mickey? I didn’t hurt you on purpose!”

“You did actually, cuz you insist on keepin’ that fuckin’ ridiculous thing on your face, and here it is fuckin’ up our lives.”

“Oh, holy shit, not this again,” Ian said in exasperation. “How many fucking bullets am I gonna have to dodge with you over fucking _hair_ , Mickey? If it’s not that my hair is red. . . and how dare _my_ hair be red, because _your_ fucking hair is red, and apparently you think you _own_ the fucking registered trademark on red fucking hair. . . it’s my fucking _chest_ hair, or my _crotch_ hair, or my fucking _facial_ hair now, because _yes_ , for normal, sane people all around the globe, beards ruin lives on an epidemic scale that’s never been seen before in all of history.”

“So you just don’t give a shit about what I think at all?”

“Not when what you think is fucking ridiculous, no.”

“I don’t get to have an opinion on what your face looks like?”

“This is all a bunch of bullshit deflection,” Ian claimed, shaking his head. “You’re just upset about the same thing you almost threw a hissy fit over a couple weeks ago. You think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been trying to grow in that patchy-ass stubble on your face? You’re jealous of my sweet, proper beard.”

Mickey cackled wildly. “You think you’re foolin’ anyone with that baby face you have? You look like a little kid playin’ dress up.”

“That’s the best you got right now? Really?”

“Oh, fuck all the way off,” Mickey grumbled, pushing past Ian and hiking himself off the mattress. He snatched his sweatpants off the floor, and pulled them on, pausing to nab his pack of smokes off the dresser, and heading toward the tiny balcony through the living room to light up.

Mickey was halfway through his cigarette when he felt Ian’s arms wrap around his middle, and the heated skin of Ian’s firm chest press up against his back. Mickey closed his eyes as he exhaled. He equally loved and hated the way Ian’s body always knew exactly how to hold Mickey’s perfectly against it, so that it felt like they fit together on purpose. Ian was just the right amount bigger and taller than he was, and it was like his body could be worn around Mickey like a glove.

“I meant it when I said I didn’t wanna have these petty spats with you anymore, Mick. Come back to bed and I’ll rub some lotion on your ass.” He felt Ian’s warm mouth on the side of his neck. “Maybe I’ll even finish you off,” he whispered, and snaked his hand down to grope at Mickey’s clothed cock, kissing his neck again.

Mickey snickered. “Your horniness outweighing your wrath? What a surprise.”

“Mick, just stop. I’ll get rid of the fucking beard, and wax every inch of my body baby smooth if you’ll just shut the fuck up, throw the chip off your shoulder, and come be with me right now.”

Mickey took a final drag and flicked the butt over the railing. He turned in Ian’s arms and started walking him backwards through the living room and back towards the beacon that was their bed.

Ian had ended up lotioning Mickey’s irritated ass crack as promised, and then they’d made continued use of the slick Aveeno cream by giving each other rigorous mutual handjobs. It wasn’t like the _ideal_ way to get off, but it was good enough.

The next morning, Mickey was stirred by the loud sound of running bath water, and something vaguely smelled like it was burning. He rolled around beneath the covers, stretching and yawning.

“Ian! What the fuck are you doin’?” he called out after a couple minutes of adjustment.

Ian stuck his head in the bedroom doorway and grinned. “Come in here. We’ve got work to do.”

Mickey sighed and tumbled out of bed to relieve himself. Ian was hovering by the tub, checking the water temperature, and he had all kinds of supplies up on the counter: trimmers, razors, shaving cream, and a small vat of wax heating next to some post-it sized white cloth strips.

“Damn, man, I guess we’re really doin’ this, huh?” Mickey stated as he took a leak.

“It seemed like the most logical way to get you to calm the fuck down. Plus, now we get this unexpected test of trust.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you do me and I do you.”

“Oh, _fuck_ no! You are _not_ yanking clumps of hair off my body with molten lava!”

“Fine, I’ll shave you then.”

“I can shave my own damn self. I’m not lettin’ you get near my dick with any kind of blade, machete, tiniest of daggers, or otherwise.”

Ian snorted. “Mick, what’s yours is mine. I would never let anything happen to that dick.”

Mickey arched a skeptical eyebrow at him. “That’s real romantic, but uh. . . no.”

“Miiiiiiiick,” Ian whined in protestation. “I’ll let you do me first, alright? This is gonna take a while.”

“I like how you just made all these decisions and are now giving me my instructions like I already agreed to this.”

“You really gonna try to fight me on the resolution now too? Stop bein’ a little bitch, and get ready for your uncomfortable morning of boyfriend grooming.”

“This is all your fault, Gallagher. We’re never doin’ this stupid shit again.”

“Yeah, I guess being hairy homos isn’t in the cards for us. I tried, and you shot me down.”

“Bang, bang,” quipped Mickey. “Now, will you please turn the fucking tub off before you end up flooding the room and drowning us in our shame?”

“Oh shit, almost forgot!” Ian replied, turning around to halt the spewing tap.

Mickey shook his head, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the vanity, watching the idiot rush around making sure nothing was amiss, visible steam fogging up the air around them.

Ian sat on the closed toilet lid as Mickey carefully applied hot wax to the chest hair he’d grown to deeply despise over the past month. He couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the way Ian kept flinching and squirming beneath the touch of the goopy popsicle stick, the nervous tension ratcheting up to eleven when Mickey began applying the strips of cloth to the drying liquid.

He wasn’t quite sure where the question was wrenched from, but suddenly Mickey found himself with two fingers gripping the first strip that was ready to go, and he was blurting out, “When the hell are you gonna move the rest of your shit in here, Gallagher?”

The tension seemed to uncoil for the briefest of moments as Ian lifted his green eyes to Mickey’s blue ones in wide surprise. “Huh?”

That’s when Mickey let it rip.

“JESUS, FUCK!” Ian hollered, and Mickey laughed, grabbing the next stuck-on strip before Ian could react and yanking that one too. “AH! MOTHERFUCKER!”

“That’s what you get,” Mickey beamed.

This was gonna be fun.

  


  


  


********

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  [TUMBLR](http://thevioletjones.tumblr.com/)


End file.
